familiarity...

Today is the Feast of the Holy Family. I know people who get caught up in the fact that Jesus in the Temple at the age of 12 did not happen in the winter, or near his birthday, and even that his birthday was not in the winter at all. I say big deal; worry more about the point than the timing. The point of Christmas is that Jesus was born. The point of his Temple visit is that he was there, and he was teaching. A child shall lead them. (A quote from Isaiah that some could say is completely out of context. I say many quotes are. At any rate, here he was, a kid -- my own kid is 12 -- sitting around with the rabbis, teaching them. All I can say is, "Wow.")

More than anything today -- partly because of the homily at Mass, and partly because the Holy Family statue in our church helped me through many, many Sundays as a new mother -- I am thankful for the blessing that is my family. Not just the family that lives in my house, but also the family that is related to me by blood, by heart, and by choice. Some of them make me crazier than others, and some are great to act crazy with, but all of them mean more to me than I could ever say. More than I will ever attempt to say. Some would never believe the feelings I have for them; some would be embarrassed. All are in my life for a reason, whether I have learned it yet or not. Some know more about me than others, and some think they know more than they do. All of them help me to continue to learn things about myself, my past, my future, my goals, hopes, dreams. Some I talk to more than others, and some I may never see or hear from again; yet each and every one is indelibly in my heart, tattooed there permanently, whether I (or they) like it or not.

I'm grateful, thankful, and sometimes overwhelmed to have the family I do. Sometimes supportive, sometimes combative; sometimes adjacent, not always adjoining, and at times downright detached.

Always family.

Family.

Thank God.

where the heart is

After a week away in the mountains, breathing crisp, fresh, cold air, we find ourselves refreshed, renewed, and ready for a new year. We're home.

Home.

Where you might find some dirt on the floor, dust on the furniture, clutter here and there; but where you will always find warm hearts, a listening ear, a shoulder to lean on, and a spirit of faith, hope and charity.

Always.

We have our faults, and we have our days, but we know where our priorities are: in the heart. We argue, we fuss, we stumble, but we forgive, we make up, we learn, we move on. We grow, continuously, which isn't always easy or pretty, but it's real, and we work pretty darn hard on it, simply because it's what we do.

The house is drafty, and has a to-do list a mile long, but none of it is major or life-threatening, but it's home. It's the place where we do our best, day to day. Happily. Joyfully. We fully realize that our priorities differ from others'; ours being the people in our lives, not the things. (Crazy, isn't it?)

Home.

perspective

A dear friend of mine said goodbye to her sister today. A sister gone too young. I just read her heartfelt eulogy, posted because so many of us were unable to attend the funeral services due to weather, or, as for me, distance. Last night, as I settled in to sleep, I listened to the wind howling around the mountaintop, and couldn't help remembering the weather at Dad's funeral, and how it kept away many of the people we'd hoped to see. I hoped that would not be the case; that my friend's family could be crammed into the church by the many, many people who certainly wanted to be there. Unfortunately, that was not meant to be. I remember that after Dad's funeral, I had some thoughts about the cosmic and spiritual reasons that would necessitate such a small gathering at a time when I would rather be one of a multitude. I wish I'd written them down, because through all that fog of pain, I only have a vague recollection of the notion.

I'm quite impressed at my friend's ability to not only write, but deliver, a moving and timely story expressing her family's love and loss. I am awed by her.

What is most important in life? The impact we have on one another. Not cobwebs in the corners. Not candy wrappers in the car. What matters is what brings us closer to God, to each other, to real, honest to goodness LOVE. What matters is what should keep family together--warm memories of good times, whether frequent or far between.

love you all

As the day winds down, I find myself thinking of all the people I don't get to see nearly enough. My brothers and sisters, their spouses and children. My aunts and uncles, my cousins and their families. My godparents. My friends who have become, for various reasons, family to me. My large-ish family is a huge blessing, and coupled with a bit of Dad's tradition--the one wherein time and distance are not determinate of how close two people can feel to one another--I am even more blessed. Although I would love to spend the day (any day!) with any of my family members, I can't. I really just can't. I do my best to make memories where I can. But I am only one side of the equation. An equation with so many variables....

Merry Christmas to each of you:
Celeste, Arin, Richard, Patrick, Andrew, Mary, Kevin, Cindy, Anna, Mattie, Liz, Frank, Miss Chris, Stephen, Dan, Mike, Caren, Matt, Josh, Chris, Fran, Chris, Michael, Joe, Pat, Bob, Ken, Erin, Lexi, Dan, Jenn, Kinsey, Connor, Pam, TJ, Julie, Rudy, Andy, Janet, Adam, Colin, Nathan, Madonna, Tish, Chris, Connie, Rickey, Jake, Adam, Sean, Kathleen, Joe, Joe, Maria, Krislyn, Shawna, Danny, Danielle, Lynn, Lynne, Michael, Mark, Barb, Cory, Tia, Linda, Anna, Holly, Lu, Linda, Annette, Vicky, AnneMarie, Amy, Ed, Liam, Jack, Allison, Marilyn, Kelly, Ed, Diane, Catherine (!), Raymond, Evan, Christy......there are so many more! In my ideal world, each special day would have hours and hours for each and every one of you.

But the best thing is that you each know that, and feel much the same way. And each of you understand that the distance between hearts is no match for the time/space continuum.

Yeah, that's what Dad taught me. The time/space continuum is less than important when it comes to love and friendship.

the man in a suit

The magic is real. Every year, getting my heart ready for Christmas, I most look forward to the magic. Christmas morning, no matter the weather, breaks beautifully; wondrous and full of blessings for the love of family. Santa magic is all part of the day, of course, but the most amazing part of all is the miracle of the Baby. And that is why my heart is filled with magic, year after year. No matter what, there is more joy in my heart than I knew possible; more happiness and faith than the day before.

Some say that Santa overtakes the meaning of Christmas, but I think that all depends on what one believes, and what one teaches the children. If gifts are bought just for the sake of buying a gift, wrapped simply for the sake of having them opened, then all meaning is lost; not simply the True Meaning of God's great Gift to his children, but any other meaning, too. Gifts chosen with the spirit of giving, with the recipient truly in mind--interests, needs, lifestyle--convey the meaning; giving without expectation.

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, and I do believe that is related to my introverted nature. Thanksgiving, to me, is about reflection, introspection, contemplation. Christmas, on the other hand, overwhelms me at times. With everyone watching the unwrapping and wanting to see just what was inside the packages and stockings, I start to forget the best parts; I start to feel pushed beyond my furthest limits.

That's why I admire Santa.

Santa comes in quietly, when no one is looking, and leaves just the right things. Santa knows my heart, like Jesus. He gratefully accepts the cookies left for him, and graciously and politely responds to every note. To some he leaves large packages, and to others gifts that appear to be small, but to everyone he leaves a bit of love and joy. A bit of magic. It never gets old. Afterwards, he leaves, again without fanfare, expecting nothing in return for the generosity of his heart. Gifts opened and he is not there to witness, but I know that somewhere, while he relaxes in an easy chair by the fire, snuggling up with a very patient Mrs. Claus (I know how patient she must be, considering all the overtime the Mr. puts in at Christmas and all year long!), and a cup of coffee, he is imagining the smiles, the laughter, the warmth in the hearts of children young and old.

We all help Santa, or should. Santa comes in many forms, but all his Elves are blessed gifts themselves. My cousin makes it her life's mission to help Santa, and has, so far, brought that anonymous Santa joy to at least a million children needing Santa magic in their lives. I'm both humbled and proud to know her, and to be related to one of Santa's elves--a Queen Elf, in fact! In high school, my father and I delivered gifts one Christmas morning to families in Elmira, NY, for the Arctic League; a frigid and otherworldly morning that cemented two things for me: my admiration for my father (who took me to do this simply because I asked, but couldn't drive) and my belief in the spirit--and magic--of Santa.

The Church we belonged to when we were first married had a beautiful and magical Christmas tradition. Santa, singing O Holy Night in the clearest, most dramatic tenor I've ever heard, delivered the Christ Child to the Manger set up under the altar. Not surprisingly, it moved me to tears, especially because it linked very closely all the symbols of Christmas. The Magic of the Christmas Miracle was renewed, refreshed, and "forevered" in my heart and in my mind. The magic of Santa is as real and as strong for me now as it ever was.

Happy Birthday, Jesus. Merry Christmas, Santa. Thank you both for the gifts you bestow without limit.

top of the world

Yesterday, despite high wind warnings, the extended Team Tanguay decided to check out Grandfather Mountain. We bundled up, loaded 3 cars, and drove the 16 miles down one mountain and up another. Grandfather Mountain provides an audio tour for the drive up to the parking lot at the top. We listened to facts about the mountain and the park, while drinking in the wide open vistas--especially wide open because the road had no guardrail. At all. Not even on the switchbacks. By the time we were halfway up, I was near frantic, leaning as far to the center of the vehicle as I could, and telling the boys (and Guy!) to stop laughing at me so I could hear the CD. I was laughing, too, but the tears my son captured on "film" were mostly there from terror. I spent the drive up saying I needed to try to breath, that we were going to die, that Guy was driving too fast, commanding him not to look at the beautiful views, on and on.

Reaching the parking lot, the boys roared with laughter that there was no guardrail on the perimeter, either. They encouraged their father to park directly on the edge, which he, because he loves me dearly, did! The next question from the boys concerned my getting out of the van. They didn't believe me when I told them the problem was being on wheels. Sure enough, everything about my demeanor--and heart rate!--changed dramatically as my shoes touched pavement. Truly, there is no problem with edges when I have my feet on the ground.

The views were worth every minute of sheer terror. The world went on forever in every direction, except up. Above us, the heavens stretched in all remaining directions. The pamphlet we were given at the admission booth mentioned that one never feels as grounded as when they are at the top of the mountain. I must say, I concur. Being at the summit, crossing the Mile High Swinging Bridge, and picking our way along the crags beyond, I felt more rooted to the earth than on an average day nearer to sea level.

Why is that? What is it about the wonders of nature that makes me feel more? Certainly related is the awesome power of the wind, in this particular case. It's an amazing place, and I could have easily stayed for another hour or so without really noticing the cold, for it was cold. The record wind gusts recorded by the anemometer at the top of the bridge were 115mph. Before we headed out, gusts of 110mph were being reported, and sustained winds of 50-55mph. The car thermometer told us the outside temp at the parking lot was approximately 44 degrees--not super cold, but with the wind chill.... I love mountains, and oceans; rivers and lakes, and the woods. I consider them all to be special blessing areas; places where I can be alone and contemplate my place in the world, or where I can be with others, as yesterday, observing the small details that make nature beautiful.

For places like Grandfather Mountain, I am grateful. For the ability to laugh and cry, I am grateful. For the family, both immediate and extended, and the joy we share together, I am grateful. For the changes in my life since last year, I am grateful. For the future, I am grateful.

where to start

Since Thanksgiving, I have been on a whirlwind and wild ride. I started a new job the week of Thanksgiving; my first full-time job since Jonathan was born. The job itself has been an awesome step in the right direction for me, personally, and for us as a family. I've been learning so much, keeping busy at work, and stretching myself meeting people.

At home, things have been hectic, trying to juggle my new schedule, the boys' schedules, meals, Guy's new schedule we were just adapting to, plus getting ready for Christmas. The boys have been troopers: pitching in with laundry and meal planning and prep (and the meals have been Ah-Maze-Ing!) while I've sewn pajamas for the 6 of us. Mutual benefit, and mutual satisfaction.

Now, it's the first day of vacation, and despite sheer exhaustion brought on by a late night of packing followed by an early morning departure and a long drive. We've arrived, lunched, visited, laughed, dinnered, and are getting ready for a nice glass of wine to finish out the evening (it's 7:20, but feels like 11:00 to me!) while we wait for the rest of the party to arrive. Goodness all around.

These are the first words I think of each day lately. My life is contentment and thankfulness right now, and that's based on choices I have made: thoughtful, careful and deliberate choices. Not only am I back to myself, I am back to my life--the good, the bad and the ugly. All of it is what it is, and needs to be taken in stride.

Loving my new job and the people there has quite a bearing on my outlook. While I loved most of the people I worked with previously, and I loved the job with all my being, I did not feel, at the end of the day, like I do now. A work in progress....that's my life, that's me, that's what it's all about.

thinking caps

I have words inside that I cannot express aloud. Some are angry, frustrated; others taste acidic at the moment. Most will not understand them, even if I do express them, and too many will judge based upon them. When the words themselves are not cutting my soul so much, I am confident that I will be able to present them in a way that will bring illumination, clarity, vision. Until then, if you speak to me, and are met with silence, disapproval, or even a slight stare followed by a view of my back, do not think that I am giving up, by any means, or that I will ever stop fighting your small-minded simpleness.

Suffice it to say that if you are going to focus on something other than the pertinent facts, I'm going to lose some respect for you. You don't even know that you are hitting close to home here, and you likely never will. Think about your words, your views, your judgements, and consider: where would I be? The answer will probably surprise you. It did me. And yet, where I am, I am more proud of myself than I have ever been in my life. I have, because I stayed focused on the facts, come out on top.

Think before you judge. Think before you laugh. And when you step outside yourself, you might just notice that someone else has something valid and valuable to share.


*I wrote this a few weeks ago, after hearing a news story that really ticked me off. (the contenet of the story is really not important) Thinking it too harsh or ugly to publish, I dropped it into my Drafts folder. Opening it tonight, I realize that all it is, is true. Take it as you will; but take something from it.

because I can

"Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple."
                                                                        ~Dr. Seuss

Yesterday, the question was presented: "Why bother?" Indeed, the question was far more complicated than it looks, as there was plenty of background to go with it. The important part, to me, though, was the simplicity of the answer--which, of course, uses far more words in answer. The simplest answer would be, "You're right," followed by giving up the action.

I've learned so much, though, that tells me that if the question is "Why bother?" there must be lots to think about.

Why bother?

Well, because if I keep doing the rote, follow the forms, act out of habit, I am still getting something out of it. IF, that is, I allow myself. I myself sat, week after week, out of habit, until that little bit of faith -- that mustard seed, if you will -- found a reason to start working its way through my heart.

Yoga is a practice. In order to find the benefits of yoga, which include, but are not limited to, flexibility, mental and physical balance, and strength, one must keep at it. Keep pushing limits, keep breathing, keep learning. I never thought of all faith as involving similar practice. Like the muscle memory we need to do well in athletic contests or games, and that only comes with continuous drills and repetition, so is faith. In training at my new job, I am practicing the elements I have already learned, and I have already begun to do some of them without needing to refer to notes or call over a co-worker.

Why bother?

Because it might make a difference to me, in me.

Because it has made a difference in me. It just took a while.

Yet I totally understand that without the possibility there to begin with, the rote easily can become not only dull and boring, but also mind-numbing and unfulfilling: useless. That was the point of the question, and I know that. Ever the debater, though, I must find some other angle; especially in applying lessons to my own life and experience. It's my nature; what I was made to be. It makes people (including me) crazy sometimes, I know. But it's also how I learn, how I grow.

Why bother?

Because in the end, provided the heart and mind are open, the reward is great.

hey, jude....thanks

When you have a new job, there is so much to learn. Not only the elements of the job itself, but also the culture of the organization, the operations and moods of the work environment....all the things I learned about in my classes, not so long ago. I expected that. I expected the overload of information about what it is I need to do; the excitement of using skills I already have, as well as picking up new ones--playing up my strengths and stretching my "mental muscles." I was prepared for good days and bad days. Days when I remember something I've been trained to do, and days when I just don't.

What I was not prepared for was learning so much about myself. Rather, I should say, remembering so much about myself; not all of which has anything at all to do with my work. I guess I shouldn't be surprised at remembering what I did and how I felt a lifetime ago....that's how long it's been since I had a full-time job, and some of the memories are related to putting in hours. They come in flashes, and most of them as remembered feelings, not as the third-person 'movie memories' I often have when remembering events.

Tonight, for instance, I went to Mass with Mom and Joseph. A memory hit me, but not of a time or event, but a remembered feeling (not emotion, this time). Not long after we were married, I was working only part-time. I don't remember why, but I was looking and looking for a full-time job, but nothing was panning out. It was nearing springtime, and Fr. Lynch suggested to everyone one Sunday that daily Mass might be a good and useful Lenten sacrifice. What the heck, I thought, it'll get me out of the apartment at the very least. I started going just to go. Then I started to go a few minutes early so as not to interrupt the Rosary. Then I started taking my Rosary with me. Before long, I was staying after for coffee in the rectory with Fr. Lynch and some of the other 'regulars.' When I got a full time job, I was sad about losing my new routine, despite needing the job, and enjoying it. And I thanked God every day for both the opportunity to have experienced Lent on another level, and for the job, too.

The feelings all came back tonight as I shook hands with those around me: faces, smiles and handshakes I have come to know, even if I don't know or remember all the names. The warmth that comes with recognition. But what came back most intensely was the feeling of gratefulness for the gifts that got me this job. Strength to be myself. Courage to try something new. Humility to ask for help when I am confused or feel lost. Thankfulness that I am able to work, that the work is meaningful, and that those I work with are good people. I occasionally find myself overwhelmed with joy at where my life is right now, and I celebrate even the temporary nature of 'right now.'

Over the summer, I read an autobiography by Jamie Farr (Just Farr Fun) wherein he points again and again to St. Jude as the key to his success. He prayed to St. Jude every day, and when his career took off with M*A*S*H, he promised to pass on the prayer as one way to thank St. Jude. Jamie was very convincing. St. Jude is the patron saint of lost causes. What the heck, I again thought, my life feels like a lost cause. I started to say the prayer each day, reading it from the back of Jamie Farr's book.

I've been thanking St. Jude for a few months now, along with thanking God for being beside me. That's the feeling that was so similar tonight: the feeling that God is near me, beside me, in those around me. I know that what God does will not necessarily make sense to me. I also know that I can ask questions. I can argue my case. I can even get mad at God or ignore him.

He will still be there.

I needed Him, and he was there, even though it had, for all intents and purposes, been a really long time since I'd been there. I still have questions. Tons and tons of questions, and contradictions, and arguments.....but I believe that it's okay. Why? Because my mind is open to the answers, and I'm designed to seek, to learn, to inquire. I've asked for the strength to be myself, and with it, I've become me.

taken for granted

My niece, Danielle, is a personal trainer (a mighty good one, at that!) and writes a blog of her own (Fit It In Fitness). On Saturday morning, my Facebook status was this: "Best part about going to my kids' sporting events: contagious enthusiasm!" Danielle commented that it sounded like a great idea for a blog post -- for her, of course -- and I agreed. Tonight, she asked for my opinion on contagious enthusiasm. What follows is my response to her.....


OK. Contagious enthusiasm. For the most part, I think that as long as it is channelled, directed and controlled, it is a great thing--not only for motivation, but for appreciation, as well. The tricky thing is that it can tip over into a mob mentality (how many times can you think of soccer championships in Europe turning into crushing mobs??)

Saturday morning was our first meet with the new swim team; the first home meet of the season. This team is uber-organized when it comes to meets, I found out. They had people there to train every volunteer, and by train, I do not mean "this is a stopwatch. Now go to it." The team has also grown quite a bit with Uncle Guy there, and following the Olympics, so it would have been easy for the kids' excitement to tend toward unruly. Before warm-ups, waiting at the end of the pool, I could literally feel the love of the sport radiating from the kids. I'd never felt it so strongly before [now, there are a whole bunch of nuances to that statement. Suffice it to say, this was awe-inspiring in me]. That same kind of feeling is what carried me through my first 5k. And I'd say pretty related to the "umph" that participating in a group training/class gives.

For the first time in a very long time on Saturday, seeing the kids excited, and the coaches excited, I couldn't wait for the meet to START. All because I caught their enthusiasm. I hate to admit that for too many years, that moment had given me a very different feeling: Uncle Guy would walk onto the deck, the pool all ready for the first splashes of feet first entry, and say that was his favorite sight, and all I could think was, "When will this be over??"

Maybe because I had a different function this time, too. But I really, really think it's more related to the happy anticipation of the boys, and being with this team.

to you, from me

For the past 18 years, I have been sewing pajamas for my family for Christmas. As the family has grown, both in number and in size, this endeavor has grown as well. Exponentially, it sometimes seems! Yet, I can't really imagine Christmas without slipping into new pajamas on Christmas Eve. One year, Mom was living with us, and I surprised her with a nightgown, too. For years, we had opened presents in the morning, ate breakfast, packed up the car, and headed up to Mom and Dad's for a few days. When the boys were small, it was a great way to keep them from getting tired of their new toys before school even started again. After a while, it just came to be the best way to enjoy their break, celebrating Christmas, showing off new pajamas, swimming in their pool. And the sitting and visiting. Oh, how I miss the sitting and visiting--sometimes wearing those new pajamas right up until tea-time!

There have been years when I just couldn't get myself motivated to make them, until I realized just how therapeutic it was for me to sit at my sewing machine, candle lit, music on, one pile shrinking while another grew beside me. There have been years when we just weren't sure we could afford the fabric (sewing is not the frugal habit it once was--it seems to have become a 'boutique art' and the component costs have risen accordingly), even with coupons and sales. One year, I even made one pair out of old sheets. Somehow, though, we've squeaked by with the purchase during lean times, and even when time has been tight, it's all worked out.

Two years ago, we decided to try a ski trip with Guy's brother and family. I enlisted my sister-in-love's mother to get sizes for me so that I could surprise them pajamas of their own. Every time we get together, we get a Cousin Picture, and that one was particularly endearing. The looks on their faces, the snuggly warmth of a perfect holiday (despite a blizzard, and being so sick I couldn't get out of bed for 2 days!), begun with a bag of flannel and fleece.

Last year, Guy's sister's family joined us the day after Christmas, and I added another 4 pairs to my already humongous pile! What joy! What fun! And what a wonderful feeling to know that they had a gift from my heart--from all our hearts, when everyone's help with dinner and chores are factored in. With each stitch, I'm reminded of the blessings my family are to me.

This year, for the first time in all my pajama-making history, I'm working full-time. Still, I'm determined to continue our tradition. Time is tight; I have to make good use of each minute I have available, so I'm starting with the boys. Then Guy. If there is still time in the next 4 weeks, I'll make myself a nightgown, too. Many times I've been told that I shouldn't leave myself for last; that I should make myself as important as anyone else in my family. It always makes me wonder what is missing from the life of anyone who would say that without considering the joy I experience, the peace I come to, creating for others. Especially for those I care about, with all my heart.

Throughout the year, I see my boys in their Christmas flannels or fleece, and my heart swells. Not with pride, but with appreciation that they want to wear them. The best gifts to give are those that mean something to the recipient, but I think the giving is enhanced by being invested in that gift. Tomorrow, I will again have a nose full of flannel lint, and a wastebasket full of scraps.

And I will feel thankful for the gifts of life, family, faith, and love.

truer words

Yesterday, I awoke with a pain in my soul, caused, in part, by a random and unusual outburst the night before. The pain took the form of doubt and fear, snaking through the recesses of my mind like Eden's serpent. As a result, I was more than just cranky from less sleep than I would have liked; I was downright bearlike, growling and snapping at everything. Not my finest day. The upside is that in trying to steer clear of everyone around me, I got quite a bit accomplished (turkey chili, turkey noodle soup, laundry, dishes), but, as I am never very good at steering clear, I also exploded occasionally at the boys.

When I got a text -- "My children serve tonight. Interested in Jojos or somethin'?" -- I cried. They were tears of ultimate frustration. Our children serve on different teams at Mass, and when either have Saturday night, we try to plan a get-together afterwards. These times are always refreshing, lighthearted, and fun. I was feeling none of these things, and couldn't even envision any kind of improvement in my mood for a very long time. Which I knew could only be the worst kind of self-fulfilling. At first, I simply ignored the message. I didn't even want to leave the house until I would be forced to, but I finally texted back that I was in the foulest of foul moods. I couldn't see myself being any kind of good company. But we had planned on going to Mass at 5:30, and I couldn't see depriving everyone of the multi-leveled refreshment. That would be far too selfish of me. If I couldn't shake it, I could always hide in the bathroom or something.

Twelve people (seven of them the kids and our niece), two bottles of wine, four pizzas (especially tasty last night!), Twitter, Facebook, a "gift jar/hat" and about two hours of conversation later, I felt like a new woman. Alive, loving, loved, renewed. Well worth the risk, as friendship usually is. We are truly blessed to consider each other family, as well as friends. Days like yesterday are when I realize how important that is.

I have a tendency, as many people do, I'm sure, to close myself in when I'm in a bad mood. I knew I should probably call someone, just to chat, but when I have that kind of ugliness behind my eyes, I figure I will likely say something ugly or regrettable. In the end, will my friends judge me for that? Probably not. And when I feel that way, like I don't even want to know myself, I always think later of who would have helped me through -- by chatting with me on the phone, or insisting that I drop everything and do something for my soul. Why do I close in so much? Why do I resist the very things that will help me to feel better, to melt the icy rock of acerbity? I wanted to do yoga: the general stretching, if nothing else, would have forced a little bit of balance. I kept finding excuses that I couldn't -- this floor still needed to be cleaned, the chili needed to be stirred, the laundry needed to be folded -- so I felt more and more off-kilter. I didn't even eat, really; a half a slice of pumpkin pie for breakfast, a banana after the grocery store, some turkey skin and some bits of bell pepper while preparing the chili. But there was so much irascibility in my belly that I didn't even notice an emptiness, until I taste-tested the turkey noodle soup. And then had another spoonful. And another.

By then, I had already had Jonathan call to let our friends know we would be joining them (I didn't trust myself even to text a positive response), and had changed (finally) out of the clothes I had slept in. As the soup nourished my body, it also fed my spirit, which began to reopen, to reawaken, to be relieved. Why hadn't I thought to eat earlier? The boys had invited me to lunch, and I refused, but now I realize joining them would likely have broken the mood. Then again, had I gone, I would not have been able to justify the evening out. In the end, it worked out for the best. I just wish the mood had not been there in the first place.

On the way home, I received another text: "I hope we cheered you up!" I was overwhelmed with thankfulness, and texted back simply: "Far more than I thought possible! Thank you! :)"

"...What wonders wine, pizza, and nonsense will do for a soul." My thoughts exactly.

along the way

Life twists and turns. Sometimes it makes sense, or we have an idea that we can control it. In reality, most of it happens and we deal with things well, or not so well, depending on where we are. It's a journey, and we can either focus on the destination, or we can enjoy the ride. I avoid doing either one exclusively because occasionally, when I am focused on the future, I miss out on the little things that make today beautiful, and vice versa. The trickiest thing is to find the balance between endgame and realtime. Each today is what carries me to tomorrow, and the goals set there.

Being off-balance gets me off course, of course. And it's also easy to forget that balance is a delicate thing. I'd like to rely on others to tell me I'm headed in the wrong direction, but that's not fair to them or to me. I have to chart my own course--even for common goals. Working together toward a goal also involves my own choices, my own twists and turns. That can be hard to remember.

Today, I'm going to focus on the ride, the journey: its sights and sounds, its bumps, its accelerations and slopes. I'm going to feel the joy in the here and now (the hear and know?) and let my (our) goals remain a star on the map. Today, the map shall be a guide. I'll make a conscious effort to slide the scale in that direction, so that when I get back on course, I'll feel it and embrace it. For it's the accidental slides that throw things off kilter.

Today is family, love, fun, and thankfulness, all over again. Thanksgiving, the day, may happen once a year, but thanksgiving, the attitude, feels wonderful every day.

turning points

Thanksgiving morning. My favorite holiday of the year. Actually, my favorite day of the year! I love the food prep (I love food!!) and the dinner planning. I love that our tradition is that the day is about gathering, and not much else. Most of the boys and my niece are sleeping in, Guy and I have had a wonderfully lively discussion about faith, Faith, life and love while sipping coffee and reading. Joseph is slightly sore from wrestling practice yesterday, but still his lovey and talkative self. It's chilly, sunny, and lovely. Soon, I will start getting our turkey ready to go in the oven and figure out just how I want to prepare the beautiful acorn squash I want to add to the menu. Most of the day will consist of food, wine, conversation and laughter, with a parade and some football thrown in, and maybe even a game or two of cards, and some old friends who may stop by tonight, or sometime over the weekend. I love the simplicity of the day, along with the complexity of thankfulness.

This year, I have more clarity than usual regarding just how thankful I am, and just how complex thankfulness is. So much has happened this year -- both "good" and "bad" -- about which I am, honestly, thankful; therein lies the complexity. In order for some of the good to have come about, I had to fully experience the bad, and for that reason alone I am thankful for both. If I were just to be thankful for the good, I would be denying the fundamental basis for the changes in my life that I celebrate. When we sit together and express out loud our thanks on this day, will I choose any of the valleys? Not a chance. That thankfulness is an internal force that brought about growth, healing, maturity, playfulness and a marked deepening of my faith -- all things that I had thought were mostly gone from my psyche, from my being, from my heart. Is it strange that I am, in my heart of hearts, grateful for the events, people and lessons? You might think so; in fact, sometimes I think so, too. But I don't have to "like" them to be grateful, and not because "it's the thought that counts." Far from it!

A lesson I learned long, long ago is that no one has to like what life dishes out. Ever. No one has to just accept it, either. But knowing that it's there, that it will come no matter what we do, say or hope for/against, and will come at us can be more than just a little daunting. Somewhere in there, I learned that the best thing to do is to face it all, process it, and determine how it will affect you -- what you have learned. More recently still, I've faced the magnitude of those lessons. It's more than "I'm bigger than this," or "This is who I am." What I've learned to do this year is that progress is the goal, and it really doesn't matter if that progress is measured in inches, miles or fathoms: any progress is something for which to be thankful, and to graciously accept.

Learning is important to me. I love to teach, but only because of what I learn in return. The sharing of lively minds is joyful and uplifting to me (even if the subject matter is painful) because in the end, we will have progressed, deepening our understanding, regardless of how (mental, physical, emotional). All in all, what I am most thankful for this year is progress, the ability and desire to learn, to share, to grow and to forgive. I am most thankful for my faith, and where it can take me, if only I let it.

virtual vs. real

Yesterday, before I even put my glasses on, I had the most wonderful virtual visit with a couple of my dearest college friends -- one from the first go-around, and one from the second. The best part was when they were interacting on my page together. I can imagine them sitting together, drinking coffee, or eating lunch, giving me -- and each other -- a good-natured hard time, and I love it! In between, I was having a raucous virtual time with a group of people that I otherwise would have no contact with, or even knowledge of, if not for the "magic" of the internet, social media and other online communication. I love this technology, and vast array of ways it can be used for good.

At the same time, I find myself exceptionally frustrated with the use of media -- social and otherwise -- to cloud and obfuscate (thanks for the word, D-J!) what is important in life, in the world, in our real lives. We do not live in the magical, fantastical world that the internet and all its trappings create. We live in a real place, where people have been killed in the line of duty, and glossed over. Where children are truly and honestly afraid for their safety, the safety (The SAFETY -- Children!!) of their families, their homes, their country. Where every job is in jeopardy, it seems, of one sort or another. Where our peers, our own neighbors, really, are still wondering how to rebuild after a natural disaster. And yet, what are we showered with in the news? Frivolous 'scandals' that, in all likelihood, should be handled privately, behind closed doors, by the individuals involved. Except that the frivolity may just have been engineered. We may never know.

The unfortunate thing is that the virtual reality of our individual internet worlds starts to feel safer to us, because what seems to be happening in the real world looks more and more like a bad movie. Not the kind that one feels one can get up and walk out of, demanding a refund; rather, the type that falls under the category of "train wreck" or "rubbernecking." So many of us are finding ourselves wondering what could possibly happen next, and shaking our heads that it did, in fact, get worse.

Lately, too many things in my life that are dear to me have lead to discussions of breaking down to bare bones, to the very foundation, to the point of no return before anything can be salvaged. Not much is irreparable, in my opinion, but most things take a heck of a lot more work -- and energy -- to maintain than many people are willing to expend. I know this firsthand, and am willing to admit that I was quite willing to give up and watch the results of my laziness (why call it anything else?? I got complacent.) because working and giving got hard, and painful. I'm back, though, and I daresay with a vengeance. To tell you the truth, I feel more useful, more invigorated, more alive for it!

Don't let it all die. Go down fighting, or go away. Beware of propaganda (my youngest son and I have been talking about propaganda quite a bit lately! He's 12, and bringing home questions about what he's learned in school.) and its intent, which is seldom less than nefarious. Pray for answers. Act on them. Fight the good fight, and leave No One Behind.

hang in there

I was told today -- twice -- that I am "probably intimidating." I found that to be very interesting, as that word did not come to mind when I was trying to quickly come up with a word that others would use to describe me; although it should have. I've been told many times that I am intimidating, but this was different.

To be honest, when I heard it the first time today, it bothered me a little. I felt like I'd been attacked. Okay, it bothered me a lot, and I had to repeatedly tell myself not to think about it. Which, of course, led me to think about it quite a bit this morning! By the time I was told the second time, by someone else, I was pretty amused by the 'coincidence.' And I also wondered if perhaps I had stumbled upon the source of the first instance.

I do intimidate. Not consciously, unless I have a reason to -- and sometimes I have had very good reasons to! The comment reminded me of a thread I was involved in a few days ago, involving a theme of "smart is sexy." While I've heard this (male) friend make this comment before, the company was different, and ultimately led to a discussion of teenage girls finding the need to 'hide' their intelligence from the world (not just from men, as possible mates, but from other women, too, all of whom might become 'intimidated.') The trouble is, I know stuff. Stuff stays in my head, bounces around a bit, and sooner or later bumps into something else up there to make a lively new idea. When those ideas get a bit crowded, or when the topic comes up, they spill out. Sometimes they pop out when the timing is weird, and I end up babbling on for a good long time to my unsuspecting husband and/or children about something they either don't care about or don't really need to know. Last night, I found my thoughts bouncing around and into a former bundle of 'choreographer' thoughts, and literally said to myself, "I wish I still taught dance. I could so use this." The bundle and the associated thoughts may or may not have trickled out with a stray tear; I don't know because I was on to the next filament.

Knowing stuff is one thing; sharing it is what leads to that intimidation trap. Why is that? Why are people intimidated by people who know stuff? I, for one, am fascinated by people who know things that I don't know -- especially when they are willing to share their knowledge. I'm like a sponge with information and knowledge. Most of the time it matters little to me if it's even anything I can use! I like to learn. I like to listen. I like to talk, too, sometimes. All my life I've been aware that if I don't talk, I probably won't intimidate, stand out, offend. Most of the time, I manage to keep quiet in unknown company. I'm really not very good at keeping quiet, though, especially when someone is trying to intimidate me or someone else.

While I don't like to tip my hand often, I also don't like people who try to throw their weight around through random facts. I step in, ask a question, offer a bit of my own knowledge. I'd like to say that most of the time the result is a more civil conversation or argument. However, that is far from the case. Purposefully verbal intimidators (aka: bullies) do not take well to anyone noticing their tricks, or showing their own knowledge. They don't like smarts, and they tend to really not like bright women.

I am not afraid to show my intelligence. I was about to say that I'm not sure what the turning point was for me, shifting from hiding my mind to speaking it, but then I realized that's not entirely true. I distinctly remember making the decision to lay it all on the line, to say just what I was thinking and just what I know to be true, and to ask the questions that would help to fill in the blanks. It was, interestingly, the day before the first time my husband said, "I love you." What I remember most about that day, that moment, is the shock that I felt: I'd been sure my self-assurance, confidence, and intelligence would be a major turn-off to this guy that I found so appealing. It was my first encounter with the idea that "smart is sexy." From time to time, he's told me that my mind intimidates him, too, but he's found (or continues to work on) the balance between frustration and admiration that is the key to our relationship. I work on it, too, all the time. He knows things that I have tried so hard to understand, too! Best of all, our conversations never bore me because of the mental sharing we do, along with the emotional sharing and the mundane, daily details. All of it is fed by our shared intelligence.

Do I intimidate everyone? By no means. In fact, one of the people who told me that I might be intimidating to someone also said, "I don't find you to be at all intimidating. And I don't mean to offend you by that. You just don't have it in you." She is, by the way, an extraordinarily intelligent woman herself. Perhaps, the biggest factor in who is intimidated by me is the fact that I am not easily visibly intimidated. I get all kinds of quivery inside -- often! -- with confrontation or a display of peacock feathers, but I find no reason to show it if I have facts and "right" on my side.

An interesting conglomerate of thoughts for the day, to say the least.

wordsmithing

I've worked with lots of words today. Lots and LOTS of words. I listened to the words in my own head when starting the computers for the day, and used context clues to decipher an email sent to me by an English teacher. I passed on some words stuffed full with my unspoken opinion. I suppressed some choice words when the L O N G stream of words I was entering into our database was suddenly interrupted with an "administrative error" message. (If I were a conspiracy theorist, I'd have some rather interesting words to share about the timing of that particular error, but I don't really want to get into that here, now!)

I shook my head at words that amounted to crazy talk from an otherwise sane person, then later shared said words with someone else, who found them to be equally inane. I listened to words that I found to be frustratingly judgemental, holier than thou, even, and could not, myself, find the words to say that would ultimately only have an affect on me. I didn't want to bring more personalities into the discussion -- although, any personality in it may have alleviated some of my distress! These were words that were hitting a little too close to home, and yet were quite off base. Stick to the facts; the ones that matter, not the ones that are shiny and intended to distract. (Life is a word problem.....)

I shared words that were uplifting: about my dad, shared interests, and widows' pence, questions and answers and how to find them both. [Yes, we shared Bible talk in the public school library. Words are pretty cool.] Words I sang from the two CDs I listened to this evening alternately uplifted and drained me; wonderfully emotional words expressing deep, heart-felt thoughts, dreams, fears.

I came home from work and spilled some words on a page, somewhere here in a draft, that may never see the light of day again, but needed to get out of my head, out of my heart, before they spoiled the landscape of my soul. Words of contempt for those who have never walked in those shoes -- not for any reason other than they think they wouldn't. 'Contempt' is too strong a word for what I really felt, but the words burned like acid in my mind, stirring up stronger feelings than necessary. Spreading them across a page diluted them, gave them less power, less control of my head, so I could get back to myself, to the realness, the facts. I played Words with Friends.

I read words that confused the heck out of me, simply because there was no proofreading done. (Giving the benefit of the doubt there--could just be the guy still has no idea how to put together a newsletter. Or has never cross-referenced anything.) I checked, and double-checked, then re-checked those words, and still came up a few cents short on meaning. Oh, well, some words are just not worth as much.

But....

Most importantly, I wrote words that meant something to me. Words that cleansed me and warmed my heart, while wetting my cheeks. Words meant for one set of eyes alone. Of all the words I used and encountered and shared today, those words are the most dear, and most important of all. And with them, the dark-time will be less daunting. I am enlightened.

admiration and pride

It's Veteran's Day today. Please, go find a Veteran, and say, "Thank you."

As I sat in Church this morning, gazing at the flag moved to a place of honor near the altar for the weekend, I found myself thinking about my favorite veteran. I know, and have known, a number of men and women who have served our country both in peacetime, as well as wartime. My father was a Marine, but drilled into me (pun intended) that he was not a veteran, as he had only served in peacetime. I'm not sure why, exactly, he saw it that way, when I've heard many times that anyone who has served is a veteran, but he was vehement. Perhaps his strong feelings were related to stories he may have heard from his godmother, Aunt Alice Watts, who was an Army Nurse in WWII. Perhaps there was something else, or someone else who shaped his views of his own time in the military, or maybe Grampa Henry was adamant, since he himself was a little bitter about not being able to serve in WWII because his job as a prison guard was too important stateside. Maybe it was the genuine modesty I've felt and observed from so many. I do know that whatever Dad's reasons, they were voiced strongly enough to me to have never asked again.

My favorite Veteran is someone I can't thank enough. He has done so much -- professionally, and for my family, and for me personally. I admire him: his courage, his dedication, his strength, his faith. I am grateful in ways I cannot express for his friendship, and his love. We have had discussions on any subject under the sun, and quite a few under the moon, as well. While I was in school, and he was deployed -- twice, there were days when I would IM him, asking his opinion on thoughts, questions, issues, and would fill him in on average, everyday things going on in my household. Carefully, we all chose what to include in packages to him -- a Christmas tree once, ping pong balls, tabletop toys -- with the cookies I made and wrapped carefully. Those packages were filled with anything we could find to express our love and admiration for him, and our hopes and prayers for his safety. That he knew. What he may not have known is that those packages were also filled with tears of worry for him and sadness for his family, missing him. They were filled with laughter, too, that the boys and I exploded with as we talked about the last time we were together, or what we should do when we saw him next. Once, I asked him what he missed most that day while we talked, and he said the snow. I had told him we had just gotten our first of the season. I went out that day and lay down in it to make a snow angel, just for him.

The blessing of this man has enriched my life, and I cannot thank God enough for him. He makes me mad sometimes , and there have been times when I wondered just who he thinks he is. And I'm quite sure he has the same thoughts about me sometimes. But when it comes down to the wire, he's always been there for me. His wife and my husband admire our friendship, too, and, wonderfully, it expands to include both families: we consider both to be just one, in many ways.

It is because of him that I go out of my way to thank anyone I see in uniform whenever possible. It is because of him that I cry every time I say that simple "Thank you for your service." It is because of him that I stay and listen to the response. For me, it would be much easier to just say thanks and keep moving. Most of the time, the response is very brief, possibly even rehearsed; but the look in their eyes.....that's the part that is important to me. The part that tugs at my heart and makes it overflow. The part that makes me cry every single time. Usually, afterwards, I'll send him a text, thanking him, too. It's been a while.

Today, looking at each star visible to me, each stripe on the flag, and the eagle atop the pole, wings outstretched, I thanked God once again for all who have served our country, giving of themselves -- selflessly -- and the immeasurable sacrifices they make, day after day. I lowered my head, too, at the realization, the admission, that always comes next: that I could not do it; I could never be in that uniform, and put myself on the line like they do. I admire each and every member of our Armed Forces, and I wish I could thank them all.

The best I can do today is to thank one in particular. Paul, thank you. I love you, and I admire you, and I am proud to be considered more than just your sister-in-love, to be considered your friend.

not so mellow yellow

Tomorrow, despite being November, will be a beautiful day to paint the porch. I am so excited, I can't even stand it! We have had a tendency to wait on stuff. We have "ultimate plans" which seem to make all the little things wait. Lots of ideas for projects start with "Eventually, we'd like to...." and then end with ".....so we'll just wait to do this." The result is that we have half done and undone alongside really should be done and could be done. The unfortunate byproduct is that the place looks a mess no matter how clean it is, notwithstanding clutter. Painting the porch is the beginning of our new outlook on living space: it needs to look good to feel good.

You see, it's a vicious cycle: the floor is ugly, the floor gets dirty, the floor is ugly so why expend extra effort to get it spic and span, just make it livable, the floor is ugly. We've started working on that one, too, with the current result of an even uglier (and harder to clean) floor, BUT, at the very least, it is our choice at the moment, rather than the ugly floor we inherited with the house 17 years ago. (See how long it takes for us to catch up with ourselves sometimes?) To be fair, part of the reason is the amount of money it costs to fix up some of this stuff, balanced by the amount of money it costs to feed and clothe our family. No one goes hungry around here; I'd rather skimp on how the floor looks than on my kids' health and welfare. Paint, though, is relatively inexpensive. I don't think anyone will starve this week because the porch will look much nicer.

Have I mentioned that I am way over the top excited??

Guy has already scraped, sanded and washed, and I have already worked on the priming. It's all ready to go, and I was so bummed that we would probably have to start all over again in the spring, since all kinds of "stuff" -- good and not so much -- had come up, preventing me from doing the painting proper. Then the wondrous forecast of 59 degrees tomorrow and 65 on Sunday! Woot!! You will find me at the top of Dad's old wooden ladder, probably wearing one of Dad's old shirts, makin' pretty, listening to music and belting out songs while wearing my hot pink earbuds (that way no one can hear me, right?) and grinning from ear to ear.

If you need me, that's where I'll be! Wrapped up in my joy at seeing the job complete and the memories that flow freely from the brush and through the music when mixed with fresh air. It will be a good weekend. Thanks, Lord, for the ways and means; for the ability and the desire; and most of all, for the guidance and support.

on a dime

I just got a text from a friend asking about lunch this week. A wonderfully bright little moment in my day, and it reminded me of one more thing that's about to change. I'm going to be starting a new job soon that will be an exciting change in our lives, and our lifestyle. Since the call came, I have been alternately bouncing and deflating, culminating in quite a blowup last night. Change management is usually one of my specialties, but most of the time, I am focusing my energy on guiding someone else through the stressors associated with "new" stuff. As a result, I didn't even really recognize what was running around up there in the attic space of my head. (You know that space; where ideas, fears, memories, and the name of that person you just saw at the grocery store hide like mice and spiders so that you can't quite find them until all of a sudden, BAM!! In your face!!)

My current position has been "home" for a year and a half, but prior to that, I worked in much the same capacity, in almost the same chair, for four years. That's a bunch of roots. I love what I do, and if it had been a full-time position, or even half again the hours I have, I would never leave. The faculty and staff are amazing to work with, to chat with, and to grow around, and the kids, though they would balk at the idea, are equally great to be around. The thought no longer working with them is more than just sad; it's frightening, and in some cases, gut-wrenching. Overall, I try not to think about the "stuff" that I do (many a monkey could do most of it, just not with my style and finesse!); it's the faces, the smiles, the friendships that I keep seeing in my mind's eye.

On the flip side, in my new position, across the river, I'll be working with grown-ups, doing grown-up things and wearing grown-up clothes. And I know that without a doubt, I can still be my silly, goofball self, since that is exactly who they met in the interviews. I already enjoy the company of the team I'll be working with, having seen them "in action" one morning, and sharing emails and a couple of phone calls working out logistics. I'm excited about getting to know them while learning the details and intricacies of a three-inch training binder (an estimated six months to a year of training alone). Learning is one of the things that makes me thrive, and I am chomping at the bit to learn, learn, learn every day! I like being the resident expert, but it's just not a challenge. I like mountains, rocks, twists and turns. And it's a busy place! Sitting still, stagnating, is also very difficult for me. Gotta have something to do. When I think of all that, I get so excited and happy. Almost giddy. All this and a grown-up paycheck, to boot! Holy wow!

We've faced quite a bit of change in our family lately: a new school (and home!) for Jonathan, a new swim team for Guy and the boys, a new sport for Joseph, band and high school for Drew, a job for Henry, the list goes on and on, as these are just the biggies. Then there are the changes Guy and I have made in how we run the house, and how we relate to each other and the boys--all changes that were a long time coming, well thought out, and that have made a huge difference in our lives (WAY for the good, btw!). By the time we got to see Jonathan at Family Weekend this past weekend, I think I was pretty much changed out. I had prepared myself for the house without him, and had truly enjoyed his time home during fall break, but I had completely forgotten how quickly a place can become "home" and how strange it can be to share that with someone else; how glad I was, secretly, that Parents Weekend was over and I could get back to my life. Because I had allowed myself to overlook that (pertinent) little possibility of college life, when I saw it, I got slammed with all the other emotional stress I was able to completely put aside while we ate together, watched football, and at night visited and played cards with our friends while he had his own fun with his.

It bothered me, more than it should have, and more than I ordinarily would have let it, that sudden awareness that our visit was pretty much done. Probably I just hoped that the weekend would last longer so I wouldn't have to think about real-life things, like my resignation letter, the bus schedule, saying good bye, saying hello [Sometimes the fact that saying good bye means that there will be hellos is so stressful for me that I want to hide in a closet. I think that may have been a factor here.], moving along, moving forward, growing just a little bit more. I overreacted, which I knew immediately, so I was embarrassed about it, and tried to force myself not to cry. God only knows why; crying is one of those things I do, whether I want to or not, all. the. time. I think I tried to keep it in because, of all my boys, Jonathan is the only one who has ever told me that it makes him uncomfortable. The others just shake their heads at me, give me a quick hug, or, in Henry's case, out and out taunt me (makes me feel like one of the guys). Even though he wasn't in the car with us, looking back, I think that's part of it. At any rate, I was not being myself, which led, in a circuitous manner, and in conjunction with the other stuff shoved unceremoniously to the back of my mind, to a nasty flat tire on the road of relationship health, complete with tears, frustration, and a very late night.

A common occurrence? No, although not unheard of in our neck of the woods. Normal? Heck, yes. We are human, and living together in close quarters, with different pasts, combined with our shared life experiences, and a boatload of everything to think about! A lot of factors came together and made some fireworks. Show's over; move along.

So an invitation to lunch is another of the bittersweet....I love this friend with all my heart, but a job across the river will make the option of lunch together pretty tricky. Then again, I also know that the effort in making arrangements to purposefully spend time with someone dear to my heart makes life worthwhile. See you Thursday, sweetie!

simple pleasures

Ahhhh, this feels so good! I promised myself that if I attacked the dining room, I could sit down and play with some words. It took quite a while, as I allowed myself to indulge a few pleasant distractions and to make dinner, but it's cleaned, neatened, and minus another 3 square feet of carpet (thankfully!!). Of course, I hadn't factored in the cleaning up after dinner, so there is someone home, rather than my planned solitude. No matter: he likes to read, and when I'm finished here, we'll read together and snuggle for a while. Everyone else is at some practice or other, and even the dogs have decided to stop wrestling for the time being. Radio on, candles lit, smile on lips.....what more could I ask for?

Today was one of those days when I realize just how blessed I am. Despite our visit from Sandy, we had no real issues here, other than being home bound for two (rather pleasant!) days--our power stayed on, no water in the basement, nothing larger than twigs off the trees. We are exceptionally grateful, and have said so, again and again. Our friends and relatives all came through the storm with similar stories, although one dear friend had to evacuate his mother, and still doesn't quite know how her house fared. His car suffered a direct tree hit, but they are safe. I continue to pray for those who didn't fare as well.

At work, I was exceptionally productive--whether because of the extended weekend break, or just the knowledge that we'll be lucky if we can finish our projects by the end of the school year, I don't know. What I do know is that it felt great to get so much accomplished in my half day. So much that I am really looking forward to tomorrow. Another blessing. [smile]

Chatting with a couple of friends topped off my afternoon. Through the magic of Facebook, I was able to "visit" with a friend in Maine, a friend in Harrisburg, and another in Tennessee, as well as my husband; all while making the dining room pretty and presentable! Gotta love it! Just another blessing (as if "just" could ever describe a blessing), showing me the amazing power of bona fide friendship, truth and honesty. I really do have some of the best friends I could ever hope or ask for: they are as much family as friends, and fall into that special category of people that could be mixed together in a room without me, and still get along like they've known each other forever, simply because they are the cream of the crop, the real deal, the best.

Let's see, what else shone through as a blessing today? Texting with my sister on her lunch break...homemade applesauce, and rice that didn't burn a grain...green tea with honey....the last of the pudding with lunch...this adorable picture of Guy that I put in my coaster last night...some of my favorite songs on the radio....the word "impeccable"....joyful greetings as everyone arrived home....a phone call wherein I was asked if I am proud of my son ("Oh, YES! So proud of him!")....a smile on my face all day long....wearing my new pants...simply everything about today. My life is just where it should be. From time to time, I've tried to pull the tiller--HARD--in one direction or another, but following the current without fighting it has led me to a wonderful, blessed place. Thanks, God, for a beautifully simple day.

what to do

How am I preparing for Hurricane Sandy? Other than the usual, I'm making granola. And I'm printing directions for craft projects I've found on Pinterest and would like to try. Guy has the Weather Channel on, and is flipping to any storm coverage he can find--I'm trying to avoid watching and listening; preferring to look out the windows for now. I know at some point, I will long for the information flow, as there are predictions of up to 10 days without power. There's no way any batteries will last that long in this house! A dear friend has offered to be our evacuation site, if necessary, but we'll reserve that for emergency, as there are the five of us, plus two (rather big) dogs and Mom. We'll see. Next, I will probably hard boil the eggs, since at least two of us like them that way. Then I'll make soup for lunch.

The combination of dire storm warnings, full moon and the actual air pressure, I have this strong desire to curl into a ball and cry until the whole thing is over. Three days of tears would not only make me look rather lovely for the next week (puffy face, burned eyes and enlarged nose), but will also leave me with a strong desire to sleep for the next two days after that. Too much to deal with, so I'm resisting....

There's also the other Sandy I'm thinking about. Almost 20 years ago, Guy and I lost a baby, that we then named Sandy; an ambiguous name for a baby we never saw, and a baby whose very existence was questioned by the same doctor who confirmed the pregnancy. I've credited Sandy for being a good part of the reason I am the Mom that I am; for helping me through the tough (read: lonely) days of bed rest at the end of my pregnancy with Jonathan. Frequently, I find Sandy in the back of my mind, but the pain is just a faint memory. Occasionally, I wonder what Sandy would be doing now, but then I realize that our family would not be what it is today--at all. None of the combination of personalities would be what I know as our loving home. Not that I think it would be worse, or better, but different is different, and cannot ever be seen, in this case.

So, back to the granola, then eggs....followed by caramel apples, soup, and anything else that will keep me as busy as possible while the TV is on, maybe even some yoga. When (if) the power is out, at some point we will get tired of each other, I'm sure, but in the meantime, the older boys (including the extra "son" we had for the night) are still fast asleep, and the younger two are being as lazy as possible. Guy's moving the cars, and I'm wondering what the dogs will do later today (they don't like getting wet in the rain), and why there are so many cars driving past our house. And trying not to think about our niece at Hofstra and Jonathan at Ithaca. All while praying that we keep our sense of humor, if nothing else.

The laundry and porch paint-prep are done. Must remember to run the dishwasher soon.....

sparkle and shine

Yesterday, I was asked how others would describe me--in one word. Let me tell you, SO MANY words flew through my head--all accompanied by the faces of the people who would use them (and even some of their expressions)! In that nanosecond, the words were categorized in my mind, and I'm sure I smirked as I replied, "That depends, a whole lot, on who is describing me!" The question was then amended to "What word would Kimi use?" To which I replied, "Positive."

At home, a good amount of discussion (and laughter) ensued. Drew interjected that it was an unfair question; how could anyone know what word someone else would use to describe oneself? I told him probably the best way would be to ask. What word would he use to describe me? "Well-rounded." Truly one of the sweetest things I could have imagined a 14-year-old saying to his momma. When I then asked Guy, he replied, "Complex, or complicated." Amused, I asked if that was in a good way, or a bad way. He then wanted to amend his answer to "Wife," but after a lesson from Drew regarding which kinds of nouns can be used as adjectives (Thanks, Ms. H-B!), Guy finally settled on "Coffee" as his descriptor: bold, strong, warm, lively, soothing.....it still makes me shake my head, but, in a funny way, I'm quite flattered. Would anyone besides my SSJ Coffeehouse mates understand? Does it matter much?

At dinner, Henry decided, with lightning speed, that the word he would use is "Unbalanced." In the best way possible, of course! I can always count on Henry to confound and bemuse me--and to try to tell me it's a compliment. He insisted, though, and may even explain himself someday. Weird kid. Wonder where he gets that from?

Later, I presented the case in my Facebook status. The responses I got warmed my heart, and, interestingly, were not any that had floated (floated?? No, rocketed!!!) through my mind in that conference room. Most of those that I tried to mentally sift through were related to the people I have recently decided I don't need in my life anymore: "negative" was one of them. Not too long ago, someone told me, "You really are quite negative, you know." I was puzzled: this was the only person I have ever heard that from. "Sarcastic," "Cranky," even "Bossy" I'd heard before from time to time, but only ever in reference to a mood, not my basic make-up. (Maybe the Bossy from time to time....but I've grown up a lot since then!) It shook me, especially since it was at a very shaky time for me. I went to work the next day still wondering what, exactly, was meant by it. Lo and behold, one of my co-workers said, out of the blue, "Stephanie, you are one of the most positive people I've ever met! I love working with you!" Ironically, she said this as I was trying to spin a complaint I had, because I didn't know her very well! Between that day and the next, three people mentioned something about my positive attitude, bringing me back to my center--and at a tenuous time for my own balance, mind you! Sometimes the 'one word' giver needs to be disregarded.

Anyway, those who responded with their "one word" for me are people that I hold so dear in my heart. Many were along the same vein: Linda's "Multi-talented, or Multi-faceted" was similar to Drew's response, as well as Allison's and Shawna's choices: "Brilliance" and "Effervescent," respectively. Before that whole Twilight movie thing, "Sparkle" used to be a very nice little descriptor in our house! My other Linda wondered if "A+++" counts as a word--she is a nut! (That's the word I think I would use for her, but with the warmest smile and a great big hug, too!) "Steadfast," from Amy, warmed my heart; especially since just before I saw it, I had been thinking that "Resilient" or "Loyal" would have been good responses. Steadfast is about right.

I worried momentarily as I considered what to say if some of the words I might use would sound arrogant. And would they really be words that someone else would use, or were they words that I would wish others would use to describe me? It was the hardest part: "Intelligent," "Organized," "Managerial," "Amazing," "Unusual"--how many of them are words I've actually heard others use when talking to me, and how many are words that I'd like them to use? I was glad when the question was modified. Another word Kim would have used: "Sympathetic."

Then I saw the word "Real," and it made me cry. A really, really good cry, with the warm heart, full-face smile, and laughter. "Real" is what I've always wanted to be. "Real" is what I work for, pray for, live for. Real. Connie considers me to be Real.

I do, too, although I haven't always, and that makes it all the more touching. I've been praying for the strength to be myself, to continue to be me, to be as real as I can be. Thank you, God, for answering prayers; for guiding me to the people who fill my life with light. Thank you, friends, for the words you share with me, giving me the energy and fortitude to share my words with you. Thank you for being the sparkle in my life.

black and white and red all over

Yesterday, I was asked a question about myself that really got me to thinking. The kind of question that, upon hearing it, makes you want to sit around and discuss the possibilities for hours. Unfortunately, I didn't have that kind of time when it was asked--it was more of a "think on your feet" kind of thing. As I reviewed my day with Guy yesterday, I told him I was pretty excited to have something clear to write about today!

The question (and I hope I get this just right): "Where do you see yourself in the grey areas of life?" (DS*) I asked for a little clarity (lol--clarity on 'grey'), and she responded that I had been talking about following and adhering to rules and regulations, and she wondered if I saw things in black and white, or shades of grey. Actually, I think it was the coolest question ever! So many thoughts starting flying through my head; memories of good and bad things that have happened to me, rules and laws I have followed, made, or broken, who I am now versus who I was even just a year ago.....yet I knew I only had a moment or two to think and to respond.

My response (the "simple" answer, as it were) went something like this: "When it comes to rules, regulations, and expectations, I tend to see them as either followed or not; black or white. When I am expected to do a job, when I am being paid to do a job, that is the job that I do, as I've been told to do it. In other aspects of my life, though, I tend to be a bit more grey. However, if I see a way to do something better, or that makes more sense, I will happily say so!"

But for the rest of the conversation, a part of my mind was on that question. What a great question!! Especially for me. I hadn't done that kind of soul searching in a long time. And for it to be so applicable to me, at this moment in time, struck me as pretty amazing.

So the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it's not so much about black and white for me. It's more about the details. I'm a detail person, and if there are details--lots of them--I can place importance with those details. The speed limit in town is 25 because of kids living there, and their associated balls, dogs, bikes, toys, and elderly relatives; therefore, driving 25 is important. The pass at school is important because I've been there when the school was on lock down, and the room was called to see if everyone was accounted for, as well as when there was a bomb threat, the building was evacuated, and we had to account for who was in the room at the time and earlier in the day. When the laptops were stolen, too, there was a breakdown in the "system" we used for accountability. When I would walk the deck as an official, it was my responsibility to disqualify swimmers who were not using a legal stroke, regardless of how "hard they were trying." Deadlines, size requirements for pictures and artwork, even parking spaces; all of these things mean something, have details that are important, so I adhere to them. The way Guy put it was pretty direct: if there's a rule, I'm more likely to follow it than not. That's the way I've always been.

But I've also made Guy crazy telling him that there are shades of grey in so many areas of life, because I do see it that way. (Not just grey, actually. I think the world is full of very colorful ideas. It's definitely not a grey place!) What I see as being terribly offensive, another person might not even notice. Things that don't bother me at all might seem like disasters to someone else. There are so many ways to see political issues, personal issues, family problems, attitudes and personalities. If all of that was black and white, the world would be a dull place, indeed. And, of course, all night last night I had example after example of things that I see as grey areas, but today.....zip! Oh, well, I think I can get my point across anyway.

My longer, more in depth response to the question is that I see things in details, in colorful bits and scraps that come together to make a tapestry of life, knowledge, courtesy, fun, decorum and spontaneity. I see myself as a quilt, or a painting--a collage. It is, as Guy pointed out lovingly, one of the reasons I tend to get on people's nerves. (I do, and I know I do, when it comes to following directions, but when those same people don't, they get on mine. C'est la vie.) Many people seem to want to pick and choose which rules they follow or enforce. I can't. Literally. I've tried and I can't. Guidelines, on the other hand, I can make all kinds of gooey! No problem there! That's when my creative side kicks in and we can really have fun.

Try it. Ask yourself where you fall on the grey scale, or ask some of your friends where they put themselves, and then have a lively, lovely discussion. And then ask yourself how you've changed from where you were a year ago, five years ago, a decade ago. A neat little exercise. Thank you, DS.


*Name omitted purposely

date night

A clear, crisp October evening. Absolutely beautiful. There are stars in the sky, and a half moon shining down. One of those rare, perfect night sky evenings, where the temperature and the sky, and even the day of the week have fallen into just the right alignment.

As I sit here, dinner eaten and cleaned up, coffee prepped for the morning, even the dogs calmed down, I am waiting (somewhat patiently!) for a Monday night hammock date with my husband. In the back of my mind, I know his favorite football team is not playing tonight, but I also know that has never stopped him from watching football before. So in my heart, I know that this unexpected, but much anticipated, cuddle time is just because.

Earlier in the day, I had emailed him that today, tomorrow, this week, is not quite a "normal" week for me. Today and tomorrow, I have "extras" on my calendar, and Wednesday is my first day without appointments, athletic department work, or meetings; just my usual work and Faith Matters. I know that he read in that email my need to connect--before I even realized that's what I was saying. I am truly blessed; sharing my life, my heart, my love with him.

It's not always been easy, and from time to time, the road has seemed downright impassable. But more than anything, I am grateful for the faith inside of me, the faith at the center of our souls, that helped us to muscle past the boulders in our way. We've come to a beautiful place--one of those spots where there would be a camera sign on the side of the highway--and the vista is incredible! I would not have appreciated the view nearly as much without the obstacles, and the hills and mountains we've had to climb to get here. All of it, though, was worth it, when this--today--is the outcome.

toe the line

The other day, after changing my Facebook status, I got an IM that made me chuckle afterwards. The status was rather innocuous, and the exchange that followed, though it meant something to the two of us, would have meant very little to many others. What tickled my funny bone was the fact that it happened.

Before I started blogging, I would play with the words in my status very carefully in order to sum up my thoughts of the day succinctly, completely and, oftentimes, somewhat obscurely. Those who know me, and know me well, would probably either pick up on the "code" I was using, or realize there was something they'd "get" if they asked. (These days, I just blog it right out--still choosing my words carefully most of the time, but without the need to be succinct. Those who want to know, do.) I have dear, wonderful friends who would text me, email me, call, or even comment on my status. Many times, the association made would be off-base, by a little or a lot, but, to be perfectly honest, that doesn't matter to me. What matters is when my words touch someone.

Anyway, I have a friend I don't see often when it's not summer swimming time, and she will text or call to talk after seeing blogs that touch her in one way or another. To me, it always seems out of the blue, and that is, quite possibly, the best part. Her contact always serves to remind me that I need to push past my isolationism a bit more now and then, and reach out to my friends, too. The other day, another friend, who I've known for so long I really don't remember not knowing her, is the one who IM'd me. Not only did she know something was up, she knew exactly what was up, and we chatted. Both of these ladies are examples of just how friendship works.

Why did this make me chuckle? Because there have been people in my past (my recent past, unfortunately) that have had this mistaken idea that they know who I am based on my status updates, my Tweets, or even my blogs. Or think they should. These people inevitably had asked my husband just what my updates meant; what, exactly, was I trying to say, and why didn't I just say it? My husband, to his credit, would usually tell them that if they wanted to know, they should ask me. That is what a friend would do.

That is precisely what my friends do.

Over the summer, a very perceptive friend texted me in the middle of the night when I posted a status at a time of night that I don't usually post, one that made her wonder if I needed to talk. I did need to, and she was precisely the right person at the moment. Another friend emailed me from far away, just 'checking in' because of a word in my status. Others have laughed with me about the inside jokes hidden in the updates, knowing that the words will look completely different to anyone else who sees them. But the connection is the thing.

I pour my heart out on my blog, but really only the part of my heart that I am willing to pour. My friends, my household, and my dogs are the only ones who know the rest. Someday I may pour the rest out, but only when and because I want to. If there is something you think is missing; something that you don't understand, you have a choice: ask me, or make your own assumptions. Either one is fine with me, BUT choosing the latter does not give you any true knowledge of me. Perhaps the gaps are there intentionally -- because I need to talk, or because I just don't want to share -- and perhaps you've just missed the point.

What I've found, in a lifetime of reading, is that when words touch me, they are telling me something about me, not about the author, necessarily, and when I want to know if I have something in common with the author, I dig to find out. Most of the time, quite frankly, I'm more gratified by what I've learned about myself. I love the comments that I get on my blog (though they are few, and not all get published) because they show that I'm making a connection, and helping others to learn, or admit, what's in their own hearts -- the sorrow, the pain, the love, the joy, the promise. The ones that don't get published are only marginally related to the posts, perhaps by sharing just a word; they are not carefully worded or thought out in any way. Nor are they edited for spelling, punctuation, syntax. In actuality, they are posted spitefully, and with a sense of entitlement, and they are being viewed as evidence of harassment. I will not be bullied, in person or 'on paper,' today, or ever. Another sweet friend called this anonymous commenter a "dimwit" and asked how I liked that word. I think it fits. Hiding behind anonymity is cowardly -- especially when the veil is so thin.

left arm/right words

Today, I'm feeling it. I'd like to say I don't know why, but I actually have a very clear idea what brought this on. What is "this," you ask? This is the raw, pulsating pain of old grief. For me, new grief was different from what I feel now -- when it was new, it struck at everything: the ticking of a clock, the warm smile of a friend, the memories, the realization of dreams dashed. It was also sudden and uncontrollable pain that caused tears that were explainable. Explainable because anyone who asked would understand where it was coming from; they could relate.

Key points: "anyone who asked" "they could relate"

Days like today, I feel more a need to hide it because most people don't seem to understand -- or want to. Time, and how it heals, is relative, and unless someone is willing to listen with the goal of understanding, their listening will not be a comfort to me. (Perhaps to someone else, because grief and its associated pains are very personal. Very personal, indeed.) Days like today, I wish I could ask advice of someone who is no longer here to enjoy a cup of coffee with the conversation. Not that I don't ask the advice; I do, and I get responses, too, whether you, as the reader, want to (or can) believe that or not. I do get responses. Sometimes they are very clear and concise, and sometimes they are, not surprisingly, much more Socratic in nature, playing to my more natural, questioning nature.

All my life, I've spent a good amount of my time alone either replaying conversations I've had or imagining conversations that I think should be. Some would call the former "dwelling" and some would call the latter "visualization," but in all honesty, it plays from my introversion. So many times I later realize exactly what it was that I wanted or needed to say, but, taken by surprise, I didn't. Replaying doesn't change anything about that interaction, but it does make me feel like I've had my say. Yesterday, I envisioned a conversation I'm really thinking is inevitable, and, actually, very important. In that case, I do need to practice my feelings more than my words, as it tends to be my emotional state that negatively impacts my vocalizations. I have questions that need answers; as much for myself as for those who need to answer. No, that's not true: the answers are probably more important for them than for me.

What I wish I could ask is this: will they answer. At all. Answering honestly is not at issue (I don't think that's possible, as it would change the past and the future). Is there a point in setting the table if it's likely no one will attend? That's the discussion I imagine we would have had. And the reason this brought on today's raw pulsing is not anything more profound than that I'd like a left arm hug after getting nowhere with the discussion. I could really use that. It would be the reassurance that I am me, the sum of my own parts. That I am not overlooked and ignored by those who mean something in my life, just by those who are insignificant in the end. Insignificant because they cannot even bring themselves to rise above.

Fortunately, I have a husband who understands that he cannot replace that hug with his own, but he can supplement with his heart open wide, and his shoulder to lean on when there are days like this. And I have a house full of boys who know my heart, because I wear it on my sleeve here (though not necessarily in public -- that would be too extroverted of me!) at home. They all know me, my moods and my tears, my grief and my joy, and just what it takes to light the spark of joy when I need it most. Even in my most pained moments, I know that I am both blessed and loved.

So, the conversation may or may not occur, and I know that, really, it doesn't matter one bit. I've said what I needed to say -- here in the forum of my kitchen, and, more importantly, in my heart. The rest is what it is.

#lifeisgood

This week has been full of extra blessings. Sunday began with a sermon that made me say, "Ah, ha!" and exemplified how different perspectives can change perceptions. (We attended a beautiful wedding on Saturday evening, and the readings and sermons for both the service and Sunday's Mass were the same.) And we got to stay for a pancake breakfast, to boot! What better start to a Sunday? The afternoon took me to a swim meet -- my first in a while, as the season had changed, and the team as well. My tweet upon my arrival says it all: "That day when being at a pool for a meet is fun again. #lifeisgood #EPACrocks" and I did have a marvelous time, watching our Joseph swim, and getting to know a few parents on our new team. In fact, it was the first time I had consciously made the decision to be "Stephanie" and not "a coach's wife" to get to know swim people. When asked about the transition, I replied openly, from my own perspective. And, damn, did it feel good to be myself!! The new me. :) I read my book in between Joseph's races, texted with a couple of friends, made faces at Guy across the pool, and loved it!

Guy was on vacation this week, and there was so much sharing we were able to do; even with me going to work most of the week. He scraped and washed the porch, so later today, I will start priming while he works at the pool -- giving private lessons after practice is over. I can do nothing but smile when I think of how great this transition has been! This is the team he has been needing for so long; somewhere he can shine and collaborate, where he can teach and learn without feeling controlled and contrived. I'm so happy for him -- and I feel as though we've finally 'come home,' as far as swimming goes.

One of the highlights of the week, though, came on Wednesday evening at Church. Mom and I have been attending a video series on Catholicism while Guy and Joseph are at CCD, and I have been thoroughly enjoying it! It's not just about Catechism, or Bible study, but offers quite a historical perspective on the teachings of Jesus and His followers. That is right up my alley -- the seemingly trivial, nuts and bolts things that somehow were missed in my 8 years of Catholic school. (I honestly don't know why -- Had I understood the historical, contextual meaning of 'turning the other cheek,' for example, I may not have had so many questions all this time.) The good news, to me, is that my faith is probably much stronger and deeper than I had thought. I digress....

Despite this week being wonderful blessed, it has also been a little tumultuous (perhaps the reason I notice the blessings?), including the beginnings of inquiries regarding making harassment charges. But, Wednesday evening, one of those age old questions was asked, and the simplicity of the answer, or an answer, brought tears to my eyes. Earlier in the week, Guy and I had talked about strength and healing, and the tests and obstacles that, when encountered and overcome, make the journey that much sweeter. I told him that, strange as it sounds, there's a part of me that is thankful, after the fact. He agreed that it sounded strange, but assured me I was not crazy. Anyway, the answer offered was this (and I have heard it before, but not so succinctly, and never when I most needed to hear it): "God permits evil to provide for a greater good." I don't completely understand it, but I'm not meant to; none of us are. But there is a need to tear down that which is not structurally sound in order to rebuild and reinforce that which is good.

I'll be the first to admit that my life, my person, my confidence has been built on a veritable fault line! Plate shifting cannot begin to describe my occasional meltdowns. But just today, I was telling Guy, as we tried to avoid the ticking of the clock toward daytime, that there is a space inside where years' worth of anger was. I get scared sometimes, though "scared" is not the right word, because I'm not sure what is in its place. I'm not used to being filled with faith, hope and joy. I'm not used to being me all over the place, either. The scared that I feel is closer to the feeling of anticipating a roller coaster ride with my brother-in-love than the feeling of an open closet door at night, or entering a dark room alone. Is it strange to say that it's a scared that I like, and look forward to?

Such happiness, such joy, faith and love, are filling my heart, my days, my nights, my life, that I almost feel as though I've been living a dream after a sleepless night. A long sleepless night. Clarity. It's a beautiful thing. Thank you!!

hurtful, hateful

Something happened over the weekend that really bothered me. I have been trying to resist the urge (the rather strong urge) to write about it because of who it was. Over the past week, I've talked it over with a couple of people I really trust, and they have agreed with my thoughts on the subject. Still, I thought it best to not voice my view; not to draw attention to what was probably a regrettable miscommunication. But I just can't keep quiet about it. I'm fired up, and will be until I get this off my chest.

Here goes.....

I don't know why you might think that you are equating "freedom of speech" with outright rude, nasty or disrespectful behavior. The flag is not simply a "piece of fabric," whether it is the Stars and Stripes or the flag of another country. They are no more a simple piece of fabric than the Bible, the Torah or the Koran are "just a book." The American flag is a representation of an entire country--"body, mind and soul," as it were. Burning a flag is, indeed, an action intended to make a statement. It is not just a right that anyone has, at any time. And if the statement is intended to show general hatred for an entire Nation--regardless of the nation--it is an outrage. Period.

I feel better now. I do have to say, I do completely agree with your statements regarding blanket hatred. Hating a race, a group, a population, simply for existing is ridiculous. Hating an ideology, however, that one takes the time to understand, without propaganda and other media influencing that understanding, is reasonable. Every ideology has levels of intensity, and fanatics in any ideology are dangerous--as dangerous as those with no understanding at all.

Respect the flag. It's the right thing to do.

a morning off

One of the perks of working in a school is having the day off when the kids do. (I know many businesses have the day off today, too, but my husband would not if he hadn't taken a vacation this week.) At one time, a day off like this would have meant a day trip somewhere, or a weekend up at Mom and Dad's or something. Anymore, it just means a lazy wake up, and a bit of hanging around.

Today, having the morning off meant snuggling in with Guy and both the dogs, coffee in bed while goofing off on my laptop, and a walk with a dear friend while Guy is at practice. Afterwards, we'll get the porch ready to paint, have lunch, and drop Mom and Henry off for appointments before Guy goes to practice again this evening. I'm looking forward to the short week, even though the calendar is already jammed with appointments, soccer game security, a letter or two to write, and Homecoming to cap off the week. It'll be a good busy, for once. My entire outlook is better, and I have my family and my faith to thank.

I continue to pray for the strength to just be myself. I've discovered the power in being true to oneself, as it allows me to let my faith guide me as much as my gut. I'm also very thankful for all I have in my life: my family, my husband, my peace of mind. This is where I should be, and where I intend to jump off from for the rest of my journey. Life is more the journey than any destination, and I am well on my way. I have a map for when I need it--for when I get lost--but mostly, I make it up as I go along. With me, I finally have the right companions, with Faith as my guide.

What a beautiful morning. I feel so alive!